


Undead Life Crisis

by WriterChick



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Baby Names, Blood Magic, Buried Alive, Canon to Modern AU, Car Sex, Casinos, Corset, Costumes, Crucifixion, Damprid, Dark Sansa, F/M, Ford Model T, Google Searches!, Halloween, I'm a little Tea Pot, Jealousy, Makeup tutorials, Manipulative Littlefinger, Mob Boss Baelish, Murder, Palindromes, Possessiveness, Sex, Telepathy, Twisted Humor, Vampires, Violence, a touch of lunacy, best/worst stepmomma, college care packages, couples games, depressed vamps, monopoly, shameless celebrity name dropping, this piece offers just about everything WriterChick tends to write, tommyguns, triglycerides, vegas!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-09 01:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: Creepyshipping Halloween Special





	Undead Life Crisis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts).



> This Halloween special has been written from a prompt requested by @yourtommyginger after she saw a manip created by the extremely talented @daddygillen. I may or may not have gone a little overboard with this, but I definitely had a lot of fun playing with it. I hope you all enjoy and continue to scroll down after reading to see the picture that inspired Tommy to request this prompt, as well as my special thanks.

 

Petyr redirected the eager blond’s kisses for the fourth time, denying her journey from collar to belt buckle. Heaven forbid she choke on a button, turn purple and bloat. It would positively ruin the blood supply, not that he was especially hungry. She was meant to be a snack, something to stave the hunger and quiet the concerned parties in his life. He’d picked her up at the craps tables in the Bellagio and put up with her sweaty palms wrinkling his blazer. Not to mention the very real possibility that she was leaving a layer of her caked foundation on his lapel as she cozied up to him in the elevator, promising she’d make him see stars. Petyr turned his scoff to a chuckle, lest she realize his doubts to her claim and suffer second thoughts.

He hadn’t chosen her because he found her particularly striking, neither had he any interest in her ability to writhe skillfully while impaled. No. Petyr had picked the girl with the Kool-Aide stained pigtails, wearing a ‘Daddy’s Lil’ Monster’ t-shirt, because she was easy.

Disgustingly so.

She was the perfect discount Margot Robbie, and cheap girls with shitty self-esteem were walking targets, willing to scamper off unsupervised with a stranger for a stray compliment. Though, classless as she was, she knew a meal ticket when she saw one. She took one look at his suit and the stack of chips the dealer slid his way and was desperate to blow on his dice. Petyr tried not to roll his eyes as he played the game, hinting that he had something else she could blow on. She was all too ready to leave with him after that, as any true trollop would be.

He looked down at his shirt, noting it’s high quality brand and the tailoring he’d insisted on before ever taking it from the store. Petyr favored this shirt, and losing a button down her throat would put him off in the worst way. On the other hand, if he allowed her to undress him, let her kiss beneath the garment, it would feel like too much work for such little reward. He’d have to scrub her cheap lipstick off his chest after, and then bother with guiding each button through it’s proper hole. There must have been something like eight or nine of them, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already done so upon dressing.

Just thinking of all the effort required, exhausted him. It would be one thing if the woman were worthwhile, but she was far from. Her advances were drunken and sloppy and sure to disappoint. What would she do once she saw him bare? Something underwhelming--obviously. She simply wasn’t capable of paying proper tribute to the preserved wound that marked him more permanently than any tattoo ever could. That was if she didn’t just outright gawk.

Losing the patience to humor her any further, Petyr decided to end this dalliance. He turned his head, letting his lips run down the side of her neck. The smell of tacky roll-on perfume that she’d gotten in the bathroom vending machine twenty minutes prior, gave him a small headache as he tried to focus on the steady pump of blood that traveled her body in streams of veins. The primal call of hunter and prey, though faint, still beat soundly enough to coax his incisors from his gums.

Just as he was about to tear into the girl, a pair of ice blue eyes silvered off in a distant, dimly lit corner and the surprisingly outlandish thought of, _No. Don’t do it,_ entered his mind.

Petyr retracted his teeth and lifted his head. “Why shouldn’t I?” He asked the darkness. _You told me I needed to eat. Did you not?_

“Oh you should,” the girl moaned over his shoulder.

 _Because you’re not enjoying yourself_ , the eyes answered.

 _Does it matter?_ He willfully ignored the way his food pushed herself up off the arms of the chair to kiss his jaw.   

The creature invading his mind walked further into the light. A halo of fire blazed around the frosty shimmer that commanded him. “Of course it matters,” Sansa answered, her voice lighter--higher, than the deeper sound of her thoughts in his head. The long legs his lips had traveled countless times, lead her closer to him. _It’s supposed to be fun. That’s the whole point of what and where we are._ “What happens in Vegas…”

The wannabe Harley Quinn startled, suddenly realizing she wasn’t alone with Petyr anymore. Quickly recovering from her shock, she set herself to possess the man she’d caught in her crosshairs. “What are you, his wife?”

“Something like that.”

 _More than that,_ Petyr corrected.

The mortal’s face screwed, determined in her claim. “Well he obviously doesn't want you anymore, so fuck off.” She was unwilling to give up the sexy sugar daddy she thought she’d picked up once the sun went down.

“Is that so?” Sansa smirked.

“Yes. Land your own man.” She ran her hand over Petyr’s chest. “He’s mine.”

Sansa chuckled. It was an ugly sound that came from her deepest darkest depths, emerging to spew past her lips. “He may bite you-”

“Huh?” The slut stirred in his arms. “Bite me? Are you a fucking tweaker?”

Sansa ignored the confused look on the girl’s face. “He may even let you fuck him while he does it, if it means an easier feed. Honestly, your mitt means nothing to Petyr. He’s always found sex with mortals all so paltry,” she explained, the humor never leaving her voice as she did. “I’m inclined to agree--your kind lacks the stamina. That aside, it’s important that you make no mistake about the man you’re staining your Hanes for.” She reached out, bringing her fingertips to the back of his head, digging into his scalp to scratch and adore him as if he were her pet. “He is _mine_.”

He made no effort to avoid her touch, shamelessly enjoying the massage. Sansa raked her fingers in his hair, the silky locks so soft in her hand as she said, “I’ve only ever shared his heart with one woman.” Her lips thinned as she divulged, _“My mother.”_

Petyr rolled his eyes and looked away, as close to embarrassed as the man would ever be. Sansa spoke to the breathing blood bag in his lap. “It would be safe to assume he has a type, and ratty-ass fustylugs like yourself aren’t it.”

“Will you ever let me live Cat down?” Petyr sighed, snatching her hand from his head to bring it around to his lips.

Sansa smiled at the tickle, opting to tease, “Will you ever let me forget Jaime?”

 _You would so easily say his name to me?_ Petyr’s jaw tightened along with his grip. _After the years you shared his bed?!_

“Guess not.” She touched her free hand to the back of her mouth, poorly concealing her grin. She moved it only to chastise him through her dimples. “You know, you’re being quite hypocritical. You've been a pimp many times over the years, and have I uttered a word of protest about it? You’re no stranger to other women's beds…”

The girl shook her head in disbelief at Sansa and tried to focus on the task at hand. “Come on, baby.” Her husky voice was fake and forced--as was the way she rubbed herself against his thigh, pathetically trying to regain his attention.

“Beds I paid for. For Johns.” He pursed his lips, ignoring their third-party. _I never dip into profits, you know that._ “And you know I hate the word _pimp--_ it’s demeaning.”

Sansa giggled. “Because _flesh-peddler_ is so respectable.”

“It’s more accurate.” Petyr narrowed his eyes. _I mean it, Sansa. Don't mention that man to me. I won't tell you again._

“It’s been well over six hundred years, and you still get so worked up whenever I say his name.” Sansa loosened her grip in his hand, allowing him to follow suit. She wet her lips, her voice turned warm and indecent as she added, “It isn’t as if you haven’t had me in your bed so very many times over, ever since then.”

Petyr’s pants tightened.

“Six hundred years?” The girl turned to Petyr, her eyes bulging. “She’s crazy, baby. Send her packing.”

Sansa ran a palm over her hip, her eyes fluttering shut as she all but moaned, “All around and inside me, _filling_ me to forget anyone but you. Year after decade after century, each more passionate than the last.”

It couldn’t be helped.

It really couldn’t.

Sansa was pushing his buttons with her voice and her eyes, and her damned hands, stroking and traveling. Teasing and taunting. He shifted in his seat, accommodating the recent blood flow to his groin. He hadn’t realized at first--too entranced by the way she ran her fingers over her bosom, when he brushed up against the girl’s thigh. Pleasure shivered through him at the unexpected resistance. A glance to Sansa showed her smiling back at him. Her know-it-all grin said it before her thoughts did, _See? It’s important to have fun._

Petyr glanced down at the girl in his lap and huffed, “This is not fun.”

“I could make it a lot more fun,” his lap pet flirted. The feel of his cock against her somehow took away her concern for Sansa’s sanity.

He cast his lifemate a wary glance as he willed his dick down. _I’m unimpressed._

Sansa laughed. _Well, give the girl a chance._  

 _Sansa,_ he warned.

“You’re such a grump!” She pouted. _I bet a new turn would be more fun than you._

“Do not start.”

Sansa glared daggers at him. _Then let me finish for a change!_

 _We’ve discussed this._ Any pleasure roused between his legs was quickly doused as they revisited a long-standing point of contention between them. “I do not feel comfortable with a new turn.”

 _Because you don’t trust me. “_ After all these years.”

“It is not that I don’t trust you…” He lied. “I’m just...cautious.”

“Of me?” She scoffed. _You’re unbearable!_

“Why? I have _every right_ to be cautious!” Petyr turned from frustrated to outraged as memory served his argument. “You turned _him!_ Declared your love for _him!_ And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you _ran off with him!_ ”

The offense Sansa had taken faded away in the face of his pained retelling, and she lifted their joined hands and let them rest on her chest. He took only the smallest of comfort in the way she clutched them close.

“I didn’t love him,” she promised, as she’d been promising their entire relationship. When he didn't acknowledge her claim, she pressed him, “ _Petyr._ ”

It was weak of him to so adore the sound of his name on her tongue, but it was not a fault he seemed capable of correcting. Despite years of lazy efforts to steel himself against her wiles.  

Her breasts rose and fell and though she no longer had need for air in her lungs, breathing was a habit she never broke of. She too had weaknesses, and he relished the knowledge of them. His knuckles lay back against the hypnotic motion, feeling the familiarity of his woman in it. She spoke tenderly, “ _You know that._ ”

Petyr closed his eyes, allowing her assurances to ease his consternation. His calm did not last long, however, quick to rile as she admitted, “I simply hated you at the time.”

“For giving you _eternal life_.” He turned his head and huffed at how underappreciated his gift to her had been all those years and lives ago.

The girl in his lap tugged at his collar and whispered into him. “Baby, if you wanna roleplay, we can. You don’t need this chick for that. She’s fruit loops.”

Paying her no mind, Petyr ran his fingers back and forth against the bulge of Sansa’s breast bubbling over her corsetted Elizabeth Bathory costume. Touching her did much to soothe him, leading him to always take advantage, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Sansa thought perhaps he wasn’t as bothered because of it, as he would have her believe. “No, not for giving me eternal life,” she gently corrected him. “For orchestrating the murder of my entire family and leaving me with no other choice but to let you turn me to sin.”

And sin they did.

So much sin.

There had been a time before her, that he thought nothing else could ever get him off the way diving so deeply into the immoral had. And then he spied a beautiful red-headed girl of eleven, come to the capital for the first time. Her eyes, so wide with innocence and intrigue, drove a primal need to consume. 

He knew not how great a delicacy she was until she lied for him in the Eyrie, casting a shadow over her heart. Though she may have justified it with some wayward reasoning--a false sense of security, the deception was a smudge on her soul. It was the very opposite of what drew him to her in the first place. Besmirched spirits, were like bruised fruit at market: still good, but too blemished to feast on. She should have been ruined to him, the tinge of darkness he'd spied in her detracting from her appeal. Instead, he found himself further admiring the girl he'd been stalking with lemon cakes, snow castles, and pseudonyms. Her moment of subterfuge promised so much. 

She was an investment. 

He had brought her to greater depths of sin than she'd ever imagined. Though, it was she that had already been lingering at the door to it more than any blessed virginal soul would dare. The way she tracked his movements in court, always finding him in a crowd...she wanted his corruption. The slight blush at her cheeks that spread down her throat and to what little chest she exposed at the time, told him she ached for it. The manufactured tears she sobbed over Waynwood’s knobby shoulder, meant she would do whatever necessary to have it. He appreciated her drive and would apply the pressure she needed to ease the frustration of potential unrealized. Cherished family only held her back. Her mortal ties were chaining her to Kings Landing, forcing her to sit at the feet of cruel men incapable of appreciating her metamorphosis.

Breaking her chains, stealing her from the blinding world of light, saving her from their shunning, was the best thing he ever could have done for her. It had all been accomplished with style and grace, and there was something to be said for clean hands. She resented him then, but oh how she blossomed into the most beautiful creature for it. Filled with damnation and devoid of mercy, at the tip of his fangs, she became forever a part of him.  

His childe.

His lady.

His _mate_.

For six hundred years--for forever.

Passion stirred inside him, his pupils blowing wide open as he remembered the moment her will to resist him broke and she appeared on his doorstep, bearing the gift of herself: body, mind, and barren heart.

If she had a soul, he was certain she’d have relinquished even that to him too.

With open arms he accepted the woman who spurned him. Unlike her mother, she learned the error of her ways and saw the truth of his devotion to her. He cherished her gift to him, worshiping every inch of her body before allowing her to ask him all the questions that had been rattling around her head unanswered. He explained the feelings behind his calculations, and rather than run, as he had grown to expect from her, she stayed.

And kept staying.

He dared not allow himself to hope that when he woke, she would still be there. Yet, her continued presence gave him more than hope, but in fact expectation. A growing confidence that she would always be there. She was claiming him, simply by her constant companionship.

She couldn’t plot and plan to take him as he had taken her. No. She couldn’t prove her feelings for him that way, but she could through her loyalty. Petyr had sent dozens of spies out to catch her untrue, and nary a one could. Something had changed inside of her, and each time he turned to her, he found her less and less likely to ever call upon her tow-headed fuck toy again.

It was Littlefinger that lusted after Lady Sansa Stark, but it was they that seduced each other.

Petyr maneuvered his hand in her grasp, burrowing his index finger between her breasts. He curled it around the fabric-covered metal wires that crested, wanting more than her clothing would allow. “Oh, _sweetling_.” The word melted in his mouth and he had to swallow before he reminded her, “You found sin long before I turned you.”

“Uh, excuse me? Hello? Are you both deaf?” The girl looked between the two of them. She brought her feet out from under her to stand from the straddle she had in Petyr’s lap. “Look Bitch, I don’t mean to be rude, but enough is enough. You gotta go. Boo and I were about to get amorous.”

Sansa smirked at the girl before ignoring her again. “All at your machinations, Petyr.”

“To better you,” he appealed. _To strengthen you._

She turned, reaching for his cheek with her other hand. “I know.” _My love._

Petyr lifted his chin out of her grasp, giving the smeared comic book character in front of him a haughty look as he thought to Sansa, _I didn’t steal you. I put in the effort for you. I_ worked _for you._

Sansa clucked her teeth at him. “And as you know, in time, I was able to see the romance in your gesture.”

“Romance?” The girl screwed her face. “You know what? Fuck this shit. I’m outta here.”

Sansa released Petyr to fly at her, catching her arms and holding them hard behind her back. The woman bellowed in pain and fear and the shrill of it titillated Sansa with anticipation for the kill. Puffing her chest out against the material of her gown, Sansa glared at Petyr as she spoke to the girl. “You see-” She paused, sifting through her brain for her name. _Alla_ floated to the surface. “Such a pretty name for a doxie like yourself. Bet you’re wishing you worked another casino tonight.” Sansa pecked a kiss to her ear. “You see Alla, I had trouble adjusting when my love first turned me to this world without light, and I may have spent some time taking out my feelings on another--before I realized my love for my maker.”

 _Some time?_ Petyr mentally mocked, his passion turning to hate.

“It took time to know my heart,” she explained. _I was young._

Her age was never of any concern to Petyr, if anything it only added to the appeal. Sansa's heart was the same heart she'd been born with, it need not change. It certainly didn't need such a long time to determine her mind. How dare she minimize her transgression. _It was fourteen years!_

“But who’s counting, aye?” Sansa laughed as she nudged Alla closer. _I refuse to let you go hungry._ “What kind of childe would I be to my sire if I did?”

Feeling his eye twitch he thought back, _So it is only out of familial obligation that you insist upon my nourishment?_  

“ _Sire_? Jesus, you people are nutz!” Alla screeched, glancing to the door.

Petyr leaned forward, reaching to touch his middle finger and thumb to her forehead. “Shh,” he whispered.

The girl froze in place. Her eyes closed and her arms drooped, slack to either side.

“Eat.” Sansa pushed her forward. “You’re pale.”

Petyr fell back in the chair, slouching as he waved the offering away. “I’m not interested.”

 _Because I turned Jaime Lannister--yes, I said his name! CENTURIES ago?_ Her mind growled, having had enough of his. “I have been by your side ever since.”

Petyr said nothing, merely played with the many rings on his fingers and sniffed the air.

 _I know you’re over this,_ Sansa decided, clearing the long blond strands of hair from Alla’s shoulder. There was no preamble or hesitation. The speed at which she lunged for the girl’s neck was faster than the human eye could blink. Blood flowed heavy past her fangs and poured down her throat with each suck and swallow.

The life force Sansa consumed struck every ember in her body as it passed over her taste buds, setting her ablaze. Her cheeks reddened at such proximity to mortality, her heart even tempted to beat in sympathy. It didn’t, of course--too long dead for such gaiety. Her lashes fluttered at the sensation of filling herself with another, taking every last bit the girl had to give, only to insist on more. It had been a while since Sansa last drank to kill, usually too careful to take too much. Her gaze slid to Petyr as she gulped.

He had turned to face her, finally giving her his attention. It wasn’t enough. If he were feeling himself, he’d have risen from his chair and joined her. Instead he watched with tentative interest, his erection returning only mildly.

He’d lost the drive to feed.

No. That was unacceptable. He needed nourishment.  

Sansa let the girl drop once she’d finished, licking the stray blood clean from her bottom lip. “You’re hungry,” she whispered, nudging the body aside with her dress boot. “Let me feed you.”

Sansa ignored his silent stoic protests as she lifted one leg to step on the armrest.

Petyr glanced down at her foot. The thought of dirt and mud smearing and mashing into the antique arm had him twisting his face in disgust. _Feet_ , Petyr scolded. _I didn’t raise a savage._

Quickly dismissing his concern for the furniture, she focused on sustaining him. “Shush.” Parting and moving her skirts aside, she offered him her creamy thigh. It had always been his preference to take from her there. “Come, my love,” she persuaded him, reaching for the back of his neck, guiding him to her.

The will to resist waned and Petyr found his fangs extending against the inside of her leg, so soft and smooth. He began to salivate, inches from her apex, her scent awakening his interest. Sighing as his teeth sank into her, she allowed her body to offer what he refused to take from the mortal. His palms came up to clasp the outside of her thigh, holding it to his mouth with increasing ferocity as he closed his eyes and swallowed.

He truly was famished. She was right to insist he eat.

“That’s it, my love,” she cooed, running her fingers through his hair again, stroking and encouraging. She let her pleasure sound in her voice, so possessive as she added, “My sire.”

 _Master_ , he corrected, with an edge of neediness.

Knowing him well, she thought, _You’re only ever so insecure when you’re restless._ “Are you bored with life again?”

Petyr gulped down more blood before retracting his teeth and pressing a peck of a kiss against the tiny pinhole wounds he’d created. “I tire, Sansa.”

She dropped her skirts and lowered herself down to his lap, taking her rightful place away from the woman they’d lured back to their penthouse. Holding his face with both hands, she rested her forehead against his. “Nonsense,” she whispered.

“I’m an old man.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve said and done it all before. Nothing ever changes. I’ve used this world to its fullest.”

 _Enough of this maudlin bullshit._ Sansa nuzzled her nose against his. “Do you remember that poet we used to fraternize with? Gordon?”

“Of course.” _He was quite fashionable._ “He went by Byron.”

Sansa smiled, pressing her lips to his. _I had forgotten how competitive you became with him, always needing finer fabrics than his._

Petyr broke from her kiss to correct her. “There was no competition. He was fashionable, yes. But not any more than I.”

Her abandoned lips pressed into a pout, patronizing him in a baby voice as she played with the tie around his neck. “That’s right.”

When she revealed her intention to dress as Bathory--a silent homage to a friend she made the seventh time they vacationed in Hungary, he resolved to wear his best lawyer’s suit. He would be Kevin Lomax, Keanu Reeves’ character in The Devil’s Advocate. What better man to stand next to Bathory than the devil’s own choice attorney? He had found it amusing at the time he thought of it, but now the idea seemed stupid.

“It’s not stupid,” Sansa scolded. “Moping around here is.”

_I do not mope._

“Would you rather I say, _basking in your melancholy?_ ”

Petyr rolled his eyes at her, again. “I’m not amused.”

“That is because you, my love, need a party. And this town is full of them.” She flashed him a mouth full of pearly whites before she slid off his lap and tugged his arm to stand up. “It’s All Hallow’s Eve, Petyr. And we’re in the City of Sin. Let us find some merriment in the one night a year reserved for our kind. In the one city that will allow us to make the most of it.”

Allowing her to pull him to his feet, he reached over and smoothed the lines of her dress. He refused to have her look crumpled beside him. “We’ve witnessed countless Halloween Celebrations, this one will be no different from any of the others.”

_I disagree. This one will be very different._

Petyr raised his brow in question.

Eager to tell him what he didn’t already know, Sansa wasted no time explaining, “This year, you’re going to let me have a childe of my own.”

 _No_. “No.” He had been quite clear about his no-turning policy. It was one he’d created shortly after he witnessed her climb on the back of the kingslayer’s horse, only the stars in the sky above to light her way away from him.

Already, they were walking down the building’s great main hall to leave. Sansa tossed over her shoulder, “Yes.” _You never let me turn anyone._

 _Consider what happened the last time you turned someone,_ Petyr warned. Again.

She stopped unexpectedly, her heels digging into the the hall carpet. Her head whipped around, the ornaments in her hair twinkling in the overhead light. Narrowing her eyes at him, she growled, “Stop throwing that in my face!” Taking a moment to compose herself, she thought in an even tone, _I have no interest in turning a lover. I want a childe._

“So you admit it.” Petyr hissed, his stomach dropping at the very real possibility he was catching her in betrayal. “You have lovers.” His lips pursed as he told himself they had to be mortals. He would have sensed another of their kind in the area. Mortals were means to an end and easily discarded.

Sansa sighed at him, giving him an impatient look. When he didn’t budge, she leaned in as if to kiss him, her eyes shutting as she neared. Once close enough to his lips to press upon them, she bit his bottom lip hard instead. He winced from the pain, snarling, “Bloody hell, Sansa!”

“Stop changing the subject! I want to turn someone for us to teach and grow and to be loyal to us.” Sansa smiled. “I would teach it to hunt and feed, and lie and steal. You could teach it all our abilities and our ways. And gods, Petyr, I could send it to college!” She looked away from him, picturing this future. “Care packages--weekly. So they don’t forget Mommy _cares_. That’s it. My mind’s made up. I want to send someone to college. It’s my right as a woman.”

Petyr stared, flabbergasted by her sudden severe need to nurture. He made a mental note to have the following channels removed from his cable package: Oxygen, Lifetime, and Soapnet. He would also block anything DIY, holistic, or parentally focused. He would save her the makeup tutorials because his intentions weren’t vicious.

This was a phase. Give it another six hundred years and she’d be laughing about that time she _thought_ she wanted a childe. Bringing a little reason to the conversation, Petyr countered, “We have Brune. Send him to college if you like.”

_Sir?_

The trusted man servant appeared from the shadows. He’d been turned by Petyr back in the Fingers where everything had begun, long before Sansa was even a late night look between her mother and father. Lothor Brune hadn’t left Petyr’s employ in all that time, his fealty so assured. Eyeing the man, Petyr supposed he could understand Sansa’s motivation. After all, Brune had provoked pride in Petyr many times over the years. Perhaps this venture of hers wouldn’t spawn from spite, but instead her last desperate grasp at the humanity she’d fallen so far from.

Still. It wasn’t as if whoever they picked would be a baby, nursing from her breast or holding his hand to steady it for it’s first steps.

_Aren’t we lucky for that?_

Sansa was beaming at his thoughts. She pecked a kiss at his cheek, washing away any annoyance he felt over her perusing his brain, and pulled him after her again. “Babies are a lot of work for such little reward,” she admitted, waiting for Brune to open the door. “And they can’t go to college. No. No babies. I want someone fun and interesting to share with you.”

 _Hmm._ What was she angling for specifically? _And what is it lately that tickles your fancy?_

Brune opened the car door, helping her lift her skirts as she stepped inside. “Thank you, Brune.” She pulled the man down to ghost a peck on the side of his face.

He’d always been uncomfortable with the affection, and it was because of that, he was saved Petyr’s jealousy. Jaime Lannister, on the other hand...well, lets just say that the morning light brought justice for the kingslayer who dared to hole up with Sansa during her adjustment period.

“You know what interests me,” she teased, the car door shutting them both alone together.

Never one to miss an innuendo, Petyr half thought she might pull his cock from his pants and give it a good squeeze.

“If you’d like me to...” She dropped her gaze to his groin and licked her lips. “We are about to create life, it feels only right that we should join.”

“We are not creating life, Sansa.” What didn’t she understand? There could only ever be room for him in her heart, else the green monster of jealousy may make him more murderous than usual.

 _Then get over yourself._ Her eyes flashed at him, the bright blue turning steely. “You came close with Elvis…”

“You enjoyed him at our parties.” Petyr confessed. _I didn’t want death to spoil your fun_.

Sansa sighed. “Only as a joke, Petyr. His silly costumes and horrible accent…”

“You said he was talented, begged me to turn him,” Petyr reminded her.

She sighed again, squirming uncomfortably in her seat. Slowly, she met Brune’s eyes in the rearview mirror. _Can I tell him?_

“Tell me what?” Petyr demanded. Not bothering to listen to either of them deflect, he started sifting through Brune’s brain, seeking out all the parts the man tried to lock tightly away. “ _Submit_ ,” he ordered.

Brune’s mind opened up wide, revealing the treasure within. Every thought and memory floated in front of Petyr, waiting to be sorted and plucked free. The image of Elvis Presley shone brighter than a few others, and Petyr reached for it, pulling it into focus. He watched as the man ate grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches naked in bed beside and equally naked Brune. He offered Brune a bite and in response, Brune shook his head and slid beneath the covers.

Petyr tore free from his man’s memory and cast a wary glance at Brune in the mirror. “I see you finally stopped pining over Mya.”

Brune grunted, no doubt a little embarrassed.

Petyr took that for answer enough and began chiding Sansa. “You attempted to goad me into turning the king of rock and roll, for the purpose of assisting Brune with his love life?”

 _A good mother ensures her childe’s happiness._ She reached over the front seat to place a hand on Brune’s shoulder. “I understand you turned him (before me, no less) and because of that, he’s your childe. But I’m your love, so naturally, I view Brune as much my responsibility as if he were my own.”

 _Best stepmother ever._ The thought came from the front seat. Before Petyr could say anything to deny it, he spied Sansa’s face-splitting grin. He chose to eat his thoughts and words to avoid robbing her of her proud moment.

Clearing his throat, he added. “Nevertheless, Elvis died before I could turn him, and it worked out for the best.”

Sansa pursed her lips. “Need I also remind you, that for a short while, you had considered allowing me to turn Anne?” As the car rolled on, she made her case.

 _You two got on so well at the time._ “And if it wasn’t for that falling out you had with Miss Boleyn, I might have relented and allowed it.”

“Women don’t always agree at times.” She shrugged _. It doesn’t mean we weren’t still friends._

Petyr turned on her, laughing, “You had her decapitated!”

“Oh, pssh!” Sansa dismissed that tidbit of information and moved on. “Then there was that time you wavered on whether or not I could turn Dean Martin.”

Petyr dropped his gaze to his lap, as he often did whenever someone mentioned Dean, or one of his songs came on the radio. _We shared a lot of the same views._ “And you loved his voice.”

Sansa nodded. “I know you miss your friend, but this wouldn’t happen if you’d stop declining opportunities to cement the relationships that matter to you.” She reached for his hand and held it. “What about Cher?”

He picked his head up to look back at her. “What about her?”

“She’d be an easy turn, Petyr.”

His brows furrowed. _What do you know about easy turns?_

Sansa dropped his hand and turned to face the window, broadcasting her annoyance with his willfulness. _She’s scared of dying, has been running from it for a long time with one surgery after another._

“And you want to swoop in and save her?” He asked, his voice soft on her shoulder.

“Like any good mother,” she answered into the window.

 _Do you even like Cher?_ He’d never heard her once talk about her other than to point out how different her body became after each plastic modification she made to it.

Sansa turned to face him. “That’s not fair. Lots of mothers don’t like their children. It doesn’t mean they love them any less.”

That was not a line of reasoning he had expected. It was reaching. “You really want this, don’t you?”

Sansa rest her head on his shoulder. _I do. With you_.

Seconds passed, as did the street lights. “Alright,” he whispered into her hair.

_Yes?_

“Yes,” he said more resolutely. “But not Cher.”

“Oh, Petyr!” She flung her arms around him, covering him in kisses. “Can we pick one out at the party?”

“It depends on who’s there. I’m not settling for whoever’s convenient.” His own self-respect demanded that he adhere to at least some limits.

She grinned against his lips. _I couldn’t agree more._ “We’ll play psychic tonight to find the perfect addition to our family!”

“Last time we played psychic at a party we were left beaten and buried alive in the Nevada desert,” Petyr pointed out.

“That was one time!” Sansa reared back, her fangs flashing in outrage.

His eyes told her, _One time too many._

“I blame the company.” Sansa let her canines slide back into place, disgusted with her momentary lack of control. Finding the silver lining, she added, “Besides, I think it all worked out in the end. Once we came back the second night, Bugsy never bullied in the sandbox again.”

With her hackles no longer raised, Petyr ventured to pull her close again. She purred in his embrace, “Should we have a boy or a girl? If we have a girl we’ll have to put her in one of the shows. She’ll be too pretty not to glitter for the spotlights. If we have a boy, I don’t want him dealing cards. It’s menial. But a good skill to have… Oh, I’m conflicted.”

Petyr was growing annoyed with the energy she was already putting into this pet project. It was excessive and detracted from the attention reserved for him. He had turned the world on itself in a war with dragons and the undead, and faked his own death to rise from the ashes and welcome his sweetling to forever night, for what? This? No. He had bargained to put an end to all magic but blood, forcing humans to forget their history so he could create a new world, one where he could make her his queen. And he survived the heartbreak of her rejection--so much more biting because of the scar he wore for her mother, to be discarded so now.

Mayhaps he should have stopped then. Given up. But he didn’t! Petyr fought for her. He won her back by crucifying her beloved kingslayer at the top of Casterly Rock, letting the sun char his remains. As if destroying the world as she knew it, only to build her a new one on top of the rubble wasn’t proof enough, Petyr eliminated the competition to drive the point of his love home as surely as the nails through Jaime Lannister’s ankles and wrists.

And it all-- _sure as hell_ , hadn’t all been so he could to play second fiddle to a baby vamp.

“What am I saying?” She laughed. “I don’t care, as long as it’s healthy.”

Petyr met her devilish grin with a stern look. Since committing to one another, he’d spoiled her, indulging in her whims throughout the centuries. All but one--a childe. Was that really so unreasonable? _I give you everything but one thing, one measly little thing._

_Stop moping._

“How many times must I tell you? I do not mope.”

Sansa twirled his tie in her fingers, and rest her head in the crook of his neck. Despite his protests, he could feel the happiness she radiated seep into his skin. “Should we make two?”

“Sansa!” How dare she threaten to double what he didn’t even want singularly?

“What?” She laughed. “I don’t want it to be lonely.” _Siblings are important._

Of course she would be passive aggressive and use the murder of her family to its full advantage. Well two could play that game. He would make her feel guilty. Shifting under her, Petyr sniffed, “You said I was enough.”

She rubbed her hand over his chest, and pouted her lips patronizingly. “You are.”

“You don’t act like it.”

Sansa swung her legs around to drape over his, forcing him closer. “Let’s not fight in front of Brune,” she plead. _It makes him uncomfortable._

Petyr listened to the thought from the front seat denying her claim, _Not really. Sometimes it’s entertaining._

“Stop listening in!” Sansa squawked. “Honestly, Brune. You’re such a Nosy Nelly.”

Silence passed in the car as slowly as all the bright casino lights on the strip did while Sansa considered baby names. Fed up with the direction of her thoughts, Petyr interjected, _Humans come with names already._

“I know that.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m only trying to narrow my search for our perfect progeny.”

“Narrowing your search?” Petyr shook his head. “It isn’t a Google search. You can’t just pull up every human with a name you like and pick one.”

Her eyes grew wide. “What an excellent idea, my love!” She cupped his face in her hands and showered him with praise. “A Google search! We’ll contact the pretty ones and set up interviews. Brilliant!” She pecked kisses all over him. “My perfect, handsome, wonderful, genius, husmphwa…” Her lips smeared her words onto every inch of flesh on his face.

“Mm,” he agreed, reluctantly accepting her adoration. _Tell me more how magnificent I am_.

Sansa laughed, climbing fully into his lap, her large skirts cumbersome and billowing all around them. It was a wonder she could feel his erection under all that material, let alone grind effectively against it. She licked his bottom lip and whispered, “I can’t wait to call you Daddy.”

That did it.

Petyr fished for his pocket knife, snapping it open as he said, “It’s best to practice new things.”

Sansa eyed the knife he brought to her chest, every muscle in her body flexing and clenching in anticipation. She grew warm and wet and frustrated with things like zippers and fabric. “Pull over,” she called up to Brune.

The knife slipped beneath the laces of her corset. Petyr yanked his arm back, slicing through the bindings with a rip and popping sound. The thin gauze of her shift lay barrier between the cool air and the taut nipples that begged for attention. He dropped the knife beside him to pick at the two strings loosely tied at the top of her undergarment.

Sansa bit her lip, watching him unwrap her so carefully, more of her ivory flesh coming into view. Untied, her shift plunged to an obscene low. It only got lower once he started pulling the open gown forward, further up her back to slide further down her chest. Goosebumps tickled over her exposed flesh, stopping at the heat that radiated up from her core. The confusion of hot and cold warred inside her and her body spiralled in need.

When the car came to a stop, they hardly noticed. Feeling the need to make things a little more even, Sansa grabbed handfuls of his shirt, ripping it open. Buttons flew in either direction and pinged against the window beside them. Some ricocheted off and hit her, though she hardly noticed. Her fangs itched to show at the sight of his delicious chest and the scar that dominated it.

Petyr’s eyes turned molten as he looked up at her. His hips shifted under her, crushing his cock up into the rough ridges of his zipper. The needy way she nestled her pussy against his fly almost sent him to frenzy. His voice was horse as he barked to the front seat, “ _Take a walk!_ ”

Not waiting for a response, his hands went to her hair, ripping the costume jewelry from it. Sparkly pins and beads rained down all around them, leaving her mane wild and undone. He would have her beautiful hair down, tumbling over her shoulders to obscure and tease her breasts while he took her.

The sound of a door opening and slamming shut barely registered as Sansa began working his belt, leaning in to moan, “Alone at last, _Daddy_.”

He tickled her nipple with a lock of hair before taking it in his mouth to swirl his tongue and suck it. _We could be alone forever._

“You’re not getting out of it this time. I don’t care how hard you fuck me.” The air hardly had a chance to cool his naked thighs before she was impaling herself on him, slowly sinking back down onto his lap. Taking him deeper, consuming him whole. Her eyes locked with his, willing him to achor her through the pleasure. Her body so soft and supple, fit and tight, had him willing her the same.

When she bottomed out, he held her to him for a moment, feeling as close to complete as he ever had.

_I feel the same, my love._

They sat there like that, savoring the moment, before she squirmed them back into motion. It had started as a readjusting, as if trying to get comfortable in a nice warm bed. Then her movement became more targeted. It was as if she were merely trying to get closer to him, crawling up his lap only to slide back down and start her climb all over.

Petyr stroked her back as she nudged and nestled into him, her lips hot on his collar, her tits pressing against his chest. _This is sublime_ , he thought.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“This is…” Petyr let his head loll back on the car’s headrest. _Fate._

Her rocking more rhythmic as she clutched each lapel tightly in her fists. _Oh gods, yes._ Sansa yanked him up off the seat, crushing him against her. Nose to nose, he fell victim to the blue flames that set every nerve ending in his body on fire. Hypnotized by those eyes, Petyr barely heard her bark, “Touch me!”

It was just what he needed to come to his senses. _Gladly_ , he smirked as he reached under the ruffles and folds of her skirts, letting his palms grip and massage her thighs. He was glad she forewent the stockings and garters, needing to feel her skin against his.

Wait.

Come to think of it, he didn’t remember her having to slide her panties off before she climbed on top of him. Had she skipped her small clothes all together? His fingers inched higher, taking on the undercover investigation.

In her longing to hold him so closely, she’d pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and let it rest there as she rode him. How very wanton of her. He would reward her insatiable appetite for him, or finally discover death trying.

Pulling the fabric of her panties aside further, he uncovered the luscious copper curls that decorated her mound. They were more than damp--they were soaked. Petyr gripped the slippery thatch of hair and tugged, gently and in rhythm with her motions. Guiding her down on him at the pull of her intimate hairs, his control of her was primal and absolute, brooking no room for disobedience. Judging by the whimper she released, she greatly enjoyed submitting to this degree of domination.

“I can assure you, sweetling. I have no interest in ‘getting out’ of _this_ ,” he hissed, petting her pussy for emphasis before taking her other nipple in his mouth.

“Yes,” she moaned. “I need it so much. Please.”

Petyr released his suction, smirking. “I know you do, sweetling.” His fingers unfurled, letting go of her. _And who always gives it to you?_

She cried at the loss of contact. “You do! Please, Petyr!”

“That's right! Don’t you ever forget it.” He was quick to burrow his fingers beneath the sodding flesh that surrounded him. _You don’t need a lover._

“No,” she agreed, shaking her head.

_You don’t need a childe._

She said nothing, only groaned beneath his fingers.

Hunting for her pearl, he was eager to flick and squeeze the bundle of nerves that reduced her to gelatin in his arms. He loved her best that way, no urge or will to do anything but lay against him, letting him touch and smell and kiss her. “You only need me.”   

Sansa bit her lip and nodded vehemently. Rocking harder into him, she said, “I want you to come in me, my love. Please.”

Well that was naughty. And it reminded him that she had teased she’d be a great deal naughtier. He pinched her slippery flesh between his fingers as he beat her to it, _I thought you were practicing…_

She furrowed her brow at him, confused for a moment before it dawned on her. “Daddy!” She exclaimed, snickering, “Let me drive stick. Pretty please.”

“Brat,” he chuckled, his fingers and hips working her harder and faster. Sex, in Petyr’s opinion, was best spread over hours. However, they hadn’t had a quickie in a car in quite some time. Memories of him rutting into her sprawled across the oversized seat of a Ford Model T came to mind. His words dripped with debauchery as he nipped her throat and reminded her, “I always come in you, sweetling.” _Your cunni looks it’s absolute best when my seed seeps from it._

The image he gave her, threw her into ecstasy, taking her from him. Eyes fluttering shut, her voice wavered above him in fits of orgasm. He held her tightly to himself, bucking fiercely into her, chasing the waves she rode on. He would catch her, and force her to take him with her.

Petyr bit her breast, letting the sweet and salty taste of her blood couple with the sinful squeeze of their joining. His cheeks warmed as life flowed into him and spasmed around him. The rhythmic pleasure was suddenly too much and his feet lifted out from under him, sending him sailing away on one of her waves, far from gravity and their physical trappings.

When his feet touched the floorboards of the car again, he was able to find the strength to lift his hand and brush hair from her sweaty brow. Her last request rang through his brain and he felt he needed to clarify something. “You do know that our sex will not bear fruit, correct? We can not create life, Sansa. Only cheat death and spread our curse.” Hundreds of years of unprotected sex should have broken that obvious truth to her.

She laughed into his chest. “And here I thought it was that you couldn’t _come inside_ without an invitation.”

Petyr rolled his eyes. _Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired._

“It’s Halloween.” _I’m allowed._

He ran his hand down her back, petting her as he had before, only now noticing the rough material of the gown she wore. The front had been left open baring her chest to lay naked, pressed against his. Kissing the top of her head he glanced at the knife that lay on the seat beside them. _Your dress is ruined._

“I can think of worse ways for it to have been damaged,” she purred, pecking a kiss to his scar.

“We can’t go to the party like this. The Astoria wouldn’t let us in the front door.” It was a lie. Anyone would let them in. Petyr and Sansa had set up shop in Vegas the fourth week it was settled by guidos looking to clean their cash. While Petyr and Sansa kept their level of power out of the public eye, they still very much owned this city. _We should go home and get in bed_ , he suggested.

She lifted her head to peer up at him. “Was it not enough? Are you left unsatisfied?”

Dragging his palm up to her neck, he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it, forcing her head back. He gazed into the unrelenting blues she leveled him with. “Yes. I am.”

When she tried to look away in shame, he held her in place, refusing to let go. “How could I ever be satisfied with a woman like you?”

“ _Petyr,”_ she gasped, injured by his words. A small bloody tear formed in her eye, threatening to roll down her lashes.

His lips crashed down on hers, his mouth hungrily possessing her. _You are an addiction. I cannot have you and not want more and more of you. There is no ‘satisfaction’ with you. Only jubilation._ He broke their kiss to nuzzle against her cheek and promise, “You give me life, sweetling.”

Sansa smiled, relieved. “And I want to share one with you.”

Had she not been paying attention? Had he not made it perfectfully clear during their passion that he would not be entertaining this idea? She only required him. He simply couldn’t stand it if she needed another.

Running her fingers over his scar she vowed, “You’ll always come first.”

 _Stop reading my mind,_ he scowled. Besides, how was he to know that? Women chose their children all the time.

“ _Human_ women,” Sansa corrected his thoughts. “If our baby sucks, we can always kill it and pick a different one.”

Petyr gaped at her. Did she really just say what he thought she said?

She laughed. “Yes.”

Petyr squinted his eyes at her, trying to determine her level of seriousness. “Promise?”

 _On the life of our undead childe_ , she grinned.

He gushed over her perfection. After all these years he still pined for her as much as he had in King’s Landing, when she was a lone wolf cub surrounded by lions, putting her trust in him--her true friend. “Lets collect Brune and grab you a snack on the way home.” He had fed from her twice in a short period of time, and though she’d drained the harlot earlier, he wanted his woman well-fed should his appetites require more of her.

“Yes,” she agreed, and then added, “However, your appetites will have to wait until after we’ve fired up the laptop and done some cursory searches.”

“Sansa,” he sighed.

She raised a hand dismissively. “Start thinking of names, Petyr.”

_I rather like the name Otto. It’s a palindrome, and those are fun. I hope they find an Otto they like._

At the foreign thoughts, Petyr and Sansa both looked to the front seat, watching the driver’s side door open. Brune had been listening in again, and broadcasting his own thoughts. When he got in, he started sniffing the air. _Note to self: buy Damprid to clear out the strong stench of sex in here. Air fresheners won’t cut it. Not even that vile Black Ice one._

“Shut up,” Petyr growled, not entirely catching the reference. What was black ice anyway? And what could it possibly smell like?

“And stop eavesdropping, else you’ll be sent to bed without any supper,” Sansa scolded.

_Worst stepmother ever._

“Apologize,” Petyr ordered.

Sansa shook her head. “It’s alright, Petyr. He’s just upset that he won’t be an only childe anymore.”

Petyr eyed Brune in the rearview. _Is that true?_

Brune looked away and began reciting the lyrics to, _I’m a Little Teapot_ , in his head.

 _He only ever does that when he’s trying to hide something._ Petyr looked at Sansa.

“Like his feelings,” Sansa explained. She kissed his temple. “Okay _Daddy_ , say something reassuring to him. He’s your progeny.”

Petyr cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about the new turn. Sansa says we can kill it if we don’t like it.”

“Petyr!” She shrieked.

A deep chuckle sounded from the front seat. Petyr could count on his hands the times he’d heard Brune laugh, and each time it had always had something to do with Sansa.

Her hand slapped hard against Petyr’s chest. “That’s not reassuring! You have to promise him you’re still fond of him.”

_Actually, it is helping._

“Shut up, Brune!” Sansa snarled.

Petyr smirked at her before giving into her need to parent. “You’re right.” Sansa always liked to be right, and catering to that from time to time only ever helped. “Once we’ve finished with interviews, I’ll take Brune out for a night on the town, just the guys.”

“And leave me alone with a scrawling new turn?” Sansa quipped.

Cupping her face, he smiled. “I have faith in your maternal instincts.”

“You smug bastard.”

He said nothing in retaliation, teasing her with his eyes.

Finally she relented, huffing, “At least you’re over your bout of depression.”

“You pulled me from it yet again.” He kissed the back of her hand.

She sighed. “And I always will.” She rubbed her thumb back and forth in his grasp. “Now. About that snack. I’m in the mood for chinese.”

Petyr rolled his eyes. “You can’t get real chinese food in the states, and you know it.”

“Not true! There was that one exchange student we stumbled across...he was yummy.”

Realization suddenly dawned on him and Petyr whipped his head to look at her, his eyes wide. “That’s why you want to send a childe to college! For the food!”

“Two birds, one stone…” She smirked. “We could visit Junior and pick up an order to go. There’s got to be some sort of Cultural Diversity Club baby could join.” Pulling her phone out she added, “And I meant it about the care packages. They look like so much fun to make.”

 _You bring evil to a whole new level,_ Petyr admired. “Brune, how far away is the nearest university?”

His phone lit up in the mount on the dash. _Forty minutes._

Petyr buried his nose behind Sansa’s ear, inhaling her scent as she snuggled into his affection. “Take us there.” He nipped her as he teased, _You’ve always been such a fussy eater._

“I disagree.” She turned, pecking a kiss to his cheek. “I drained that tramp in order to feed you, and she tasted like smokers cough and triglycerides.”

He rolled his eyes before asking, “Do you think I should take another casino?”

“Why? Don’t we have enough of them?” She reached for his chin, turning him to face her as she smiled. “Are we playing Monopoly again?”

Memory of the night he and Sansa drained a couple of coke-heads and took the town by storm, high as a kite and deeply in love, came to mind. They took three casinos in one night, starting with the Northern Club, then the Vegas Club, before finishing up with the Apache. They would have made it out of the desert that night too, had they not been coming down from a pretty rugged trip at the worst time. The first time Petyr had ever seen a tommy gun was when Hooky and Moe ran them off the road with them, and dragged their stunned bodies from the roadside, shoving them into freshly dug unmarked graves.

 _Bugsy paid for that later--they all did_ , Sansa consoled. “Besides, it’s been decades…”

He shook his head. “I’m not playing monopoly.”

 _You loved the game so much when it came out_ , she reminded him. “I don’t think we’d have so much of the city now if you weren’t so inspired by Parker Brothers.”

“It was new, fresh off the assembly line.” He excused his boyish excitement over a board game he’d made real in one long night. “And need I remind you, we were high?”

She snickered. “I remember.”

“You don’t remember everything. Only the good parts.” His eyes darkened. _Not waking up under six feet of hot desert dirt at high noon, the sound of your lover’s screams just out of reach tormenting you._

Sansa cupped his cheek and nuzzled into his face, kissing the corners of his lips. _I’m sorry you suffer that memory alone. Hysterics took my mind from me._

He sighed. _It returned to you. That’s all matters._

“I love you,” she promised.

He turned to kiss her lips, letting the taste of her sooth him. “And I, you.”

A short silence passed as they held each other before curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “If you aren’t going for a monopoly, then why are you considering taking another casino?”    

He played with the ring on her finger. “New turns are expensive.” He thought of all the bodies he had to dispose of, homes he had to burn down, and passages he had to book on various ships, both at Brune’s rebirth and Sansa’s. _They make so many costly mistakes in the first hundred years._

She grinned from ear to ear. “You’re thinking like a father.”

_Perhaps._

“It’s a good look for you.” _It’s sexy._

The car slowed as Brune thought back, _Should I pull over again?_

“Shut up,” Petyr growled.

“He hasn’t said a word,” Sansa laughed.

Petyr knew that. That was the point. The whole reason why Brune never uttered a fucking sentence past his immortal infancy. Petyr glared at Brune as he explained, “That’s because he loathes to be corrected.”

“Perhaps you should do it nicer,” Sansa critiqued.

 _Yeeah!_ Brune all but stuck his tongue out at the rearview mirror.

Petyr defended, “It’s called _tough love_ , Sansa.”

Brune scoffed.

 _Maybe we should have a girl._ Sansa’s eyes narrowed on Petyr. _You’re too hard on Brune and I think it’s because he’s a boy._

Brune cleared his throat.

“Sorry-- _man_.”

Petyr glanced between the now satisfied Brune and the concerned expression on Sansa’s face and closed his eyes. He counted to five before he opened them again and asked, “Do you want this childe or not?”

“I’ve already started searching different names on my phone…”

“Dammit, Sansa!”

_If you want a girl, you should go with Ava or Anna--those are palindromes too._

Petyr rubbed his temples. Who the hell cared about a palindrome?

The car came to a stop and Brune stared out his window.

“Oh no,” Sansa sighed. “You’ve hurt his feelings.”

Petyr felt his eye twitch again as it had earlier in the night. Fighting to control his roar, he grit his teeth, forcing each word out. “Perhaps now is the best time for him to learn how to self-sooth.”

Suck it, Dr. Spock.

Sansa froze, blinking back at him as she let his words play thought her head. _You’re so right, my love! You’re the bestest father ever._ “I can’t wait to share an Ava or an Anna with you.”

Ava or Anna?

She was pandering to Brune. For the nine millionth time.

It was preposterous to limit themselves to such novelty. Though he might consider an _Ada_ , there were hardly any of those around anymore… Petyr bit the inside of his cheek and cursed to himself. What was he thinking? What madness were they driving him to?

The car started again and they pulled back onto the strip. Brune’s happiness could be felt in warm waves from the front seat and a glance to Sansa’s contentedness forced Petyr to allow it. So much time had been wasted in this back and forth.

Sansa laughed. “The night is still young and this city never sleeps.” She’d been listening into his thoughts again. He really should have put a stop to it back when she first learned to, but he felt so much closer to her when she knew his mind, that he never closed that part of their bond. There were times he regretted that decision, usually when she had an agenda. Sighing with pleasure, Sansa finished her thought, _We made this city that way._

They had, hadn’t they? They developed this land, managed the people in it, and stood prideful and vigilant as they watched it take on a life of its own. Wasn’t that just what parenting was? Memory of Sansa’s first ever feed came to mind and a small smile played at his lips. For the first time in six hundred years, Petyr found himself actually willing to entertain this desire of hers. In the past, he would have agreed with her in the moment to quiet her, without any true intention of following through. Las Vegas had changed his perspective and before he knew it, he was smiling. “Eat first, there is no rush. We can discuss names on the way.”

“You are committed then? Truly? Your mind is made?” She asked, searching his eyes.

His ringed fingers tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before he tilted her head towards him to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. His lips tickled her as he whispered, “I have always provided for you, and I always will. If you require a childe, I will ensure you have one.”

Sansa gripped his wrist and drug his hand from the back of her neck, down to rest on the supple breasts over her heart. She kissed him deeply as she held his palm in place and hummed happily to herself, _I have never regretted returning to you, from the moment I stepped out of that carriage and stood on your doorstep, praying you’d answer my call._ She twisted her head to accept more of him. _I feel blessed in my damnation for every night we have together._

Petyr pulled from her lips to gaze down at the deeper shade of pink they’d become. They were made more beautiful with use and they belonged to him. He spoke more to himself than to her as he said, “We have many nights.”

Taking his thumb in her mouth, her eyes flashed up to his. Her pupils swallowed the effervescent blue irises they swam in until nothing but darkness glittered back at him. _We have all eternity._

 

_*****_

 

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This beautiful manip was created by **@daddygillen** and was the source of inspiration for **@yourtommyginger** 's prompt request. I eyed the picture and the prompt and went wild with my writing. I would like to thank @yourtommyginer for the prompt and @daddygillen for the use of her picture in this post. Also-- I would very much like to thank **@greedisgreen** for editing promotional photos for me to release every Sunday leading up to Halloween. I do not have the eye for edits that others do, and she was kind enough to volunteer her time each week (it was like 6 weeks...she's a rockstar, lol) making my ideas look much more polished and presentable. It takes a village people, seriously lol. And I am genuinely grateful for mine. Lastly, thank you all for reading and indulging me in my 23 pages of pretend. It is greatly appreciated! Happy Halloween everyone :-) 

 


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